Pay for it With Heart and Soul
by MakeYouNotice
Summary: Everything has a price and some things like faith, belief, hope and even idealism have a higher cost than others. If anyone had asked him, Ratchet would have said that he was too cynical for those things, but he knew it was a lie. One muggy night in March, Ratchet pays for all of it at once.


**Spoilers for Transformers: Age of Extinction.  
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**The song is _The War was in Color_by Carbon Leaf**

**Pay for it With Heart and Soul**

_Now I lay in my grave at age twenty-one, long before you were born, before I bore a son, what good did it do, well hopefully for you, a world without war, a life full of color, where to begin, let's start with the end…_

Ratchet's old and tired and not sure what he's doing, not sure why he's running, hasn't been sure for a long time.

They've got guns, armor piercing rounds and he's forgotten how much they _hurt_. The surprise at the pain (_out of practice, old mech, soft and complacent, you used to be able to handle more than that_) causes him to transform and that moment of distraction is all they need. A second later, his left leg is blown away. "No!" he yells, and he's still not sure why. They won't listen. "Hold- hold your fire! _Hold your fire_! Can you not see that I've been injured?" The very moment he says that, his other leg gives out, unable to hold his bulk and he goes crashing to the ground amid more gunfire. He holds out his servos, the extra tough plating giving his face some reprieve.

"Medical Officer Ratchet. I'm a friend! I'm an Autobot." This, of course, means nothing to these men, but it's an automatic response left over from Cybertron. Decepticons were always in need of a competent medic and it was a medic's oath to help any in need, friend or foe and Ratchet held to that, even now. These men, these dead-eyed, black-clad soldiers who are fed only lies and malice know nothing of that. All they know is where to aim to take a Cybertronian down fastest. The medic wondered what had happened to the humans he had loved, the creatures that had fascinated him with their sameness, enchanted him with their strangeness and had wanted to study for the sheer joy of leaning.

_But if they're so _different_ and _evil, a part of his processor sneered at him, _then why won't you fire _back_?_

In almost direct contradiction and correlation to that thought, the field commander of Cemetery Wind, Savoy, lifted his chin in anger and said, "Then why are you running?"

_I'm just an Autobot_, he'd told Annabelle once. _There are no good guys and bad guys in war. There are only our opinions and theirs and sometimes… Theirs wins._ She had been too young to understand what he meant at the time, only six or seven, but it had stuck with her. When he had finally guided she and Sarah to safety two years ago, the girl had looked at him with eyes too old for a teenager and said that their opinions were winning.

Ratchet realizes that he _is_ running and suddenly, he doesn't really want to. That doesn't mean he's dumb enough to tell them why, though. So his answer is only half real and more plausible than the complete truth. "Optimus sent this distress message: '_Calling all Autobots, we are under targeted attack! Cease all contact with humans!_'" and suddenly, he wants to stop, take in the voice of his oldest living friend, one he hasn't see since before Will's death. He wants to stop and take in the blistering fury in that voice, the strain that runs beneath it and the ever-present threat of it breaking from the pain. He wants to comfort the mech he practically raised, but he doesn't show any of it, because that would require showing weakness and he will do nothing of the sort around these _animals_. So he plows on, heedless of the emotional turmoil inside his spark, "We are all in hiding, all Autobots are being hunted. We are in danger."

As expected, Savoy gives him no quarter, simply lifting his chin higher and letting some twisted version of grief shine in his eyes for a brief moment. "I lost a sister in Chicago; you get no sympathy from me."

As if the human's words are some sort of signal, Ratchet's scanners track an incoming cannon blast that he only has time to turn and face. It catches him in the chest and knocks him further back into the silo he was leaning on and the humans begin to fire again, redoubling their efforts. Ratchet gives one last try to get them to stop, futile though he knows it is. "What's _wrong_ with you humans? _N__o_, cease!" It doesn't work, he didn't expect it to, but he still feels some sense of shame laid out on some road like this, borderline _begging_ the humans to spare him.

Ratchet does not beg. Ever.

He notices the mech then, vaguely watching the streamlined form rise out of the water through failing optics. The mech moves forward into the light and Ratchet's guttering spark flares. He knows this mech, this mercenary and ghost story. This creature is a menace that's been around for as long as he remembers, hunting through the galaxy, 'collecting' things. There's a low growl as he steps over the humans, a murmur of "He's mine now," as the humans stop shooting.

"Lockdown," Ratchet hisses.

Lockdown spares him a grotesque smile on an eerily human face, one that makes him look more like them than the Autobots ever could. His slim frame moves closer, carelessly resetting his cannon and transforming it into something that looks more like a gutting hook. "Autobots. Decpticons. Like little children, always fighting, making a mess out of the universe. Then I've got to clean it up," he drawls conversationally. "There is only one way you survive. Tell me where he's hiding. _Where is Optimus Prime_?"

Ratchet's having trouble with everything from regulating his internal temperature to interpreting information from his optics and audials now and Lockdown is standing over him looking so smug and _sure_ of his victory that Ratchet just can't take it, failing systems or no. "Never," he bites out and he's never heard so much venom in his voice. To think that he could ever betray his Prime is absolutely insane. He wouldn't do it for anything. Still though, in light of that, he wasn't sure what he was really defying Lockdown about right now because it's about more than just his devotion to his Prime. _Never surrender, never give up, never compromise._

There's a whole list of never's he promised himself, things he took an oath to do that he said he'd never break. (_Optimus had asked him once how he intended to keep all those oaths in the middle of war and Ratchet had responded that he simply had faith that his Prime would not force him to break them._) In all the millennia since then he hasn't done it and the threat of imminent death won't do it now. (_His faith has not been unfounded._)

Still, it's impossible to live on determination (for the most part, Ratchet has always been too cynical for faith) alone and Ratchet can't stop Lockdown's viscous hook from ripping his spark out. He's still old and tired, but at least he's sure of his course now.

So, Ratchet dies on the road, another red X on another card at CIA headquarters. Another few tons of Transformium for KSI researchers. Just another hunk of scrap metal like the other poor, unfortunate sparks. (_Only, unlike the rest, Ratchet doesn't mind the settling of this particular score.)_

Ratchet dies for the Cause, that lofty goal of freedom, another spark sent to the Well before its time to loved ones that also left before they should. (_And just like them, he finds peace very hard to deal with.)_

Ratchet dies in the service of his Prime, another pang of grief and loss in Optimus's dormant spark. (_Another name to carve into his armor later and just as unique as the ones before it.)_

Ratchet is dead on the road and Lockdown plants a pede on the already graying chassis, crushing his spark in uncaring servos.

"_Never is here."_


End file.
